I have always thought autumn to be the best time of year, no matter where I am in the world. Generally one escapes the frigid desolation of the harshest months and the overheated cauldron of summer, ending up with mild weather, limited tourist traffic and pleasant conditions.
The forecast was for 22°C and sunshine on Freedom Day. With walking in the moun-tains and freedom synonymous in my mind, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy the Cape at its best.
I have walked around the Silvermine reserve a good deal but there are a myriad tracks to follow, and this time I decided to do a somewhat "off-piste" journey following guidelines from Karen Watkins's book Adven-ture Walks & Scrambles in the Cape Pennisula (Double Storey).
The car park was rather full despite starting off early and it was apparent that there were many like-minded souls enjoying some fresh air and taking the dog for a walk. I felt a little unprepared in that I no longer have a dog. There was a veritable parade of breeds going in all directions: sleek and obedient German shepherds, low-slung basset hounds, hyperactive Jack Russels and any number of mixes. I suppose that the reserve is near to paradise if your canine outlook has been confin-ed to a suburban garden.
I headed out along the jeep track around Klein Tuinkop, patting the heads of various inquisitive dogs. It was a pleasure to see all these panting hounds enjoying themselves; there are few things quite as cheerful as a truly happy dog.
As I ascended over large and irregular stone steps, the most gorgeous views of Chapman's Peak and Noordhoek Beach were revealed. A flotilla of yachts rounded the corner from Hout Bay.
From here I turned off the main path and headed up towards the steep rock cliffs, skirting the gargoylesque rock formations until at the corner I undertook some rock scrambling to the top. Here were dozens of King Proteas, many admittedly succumbing to the ravages of a rapidly approaching winter, but simply to see so many in one place was something to behold.
There was a faint path to follow and I could look down upon the large numbers of other hikers and dog walkers on the path below, my presence going completely unnoticed.
Among the many rocks and crevices black lizards scattered at my approach, forgoing their sunbathing for a moment or two in favour of safety. One lizard failed to move and on close inspection it was apparent that he had met his end. Oddly he had shuffled off this mortal coil in mid- stride, as though his end had come with such rapidity as to freeze the moment. A tiny if somewhat bizarre reminder that one's demise could be but moments away - perhaps incentive to make sure we enjoy our opportunities to the full.
I traversed an area of rock chimneys and windows known as Stonehenge, a reference to the apparent similarity of these rock formations to the man-made stone circle on the downs of Wiltshire. I am not certain I could see the resemblance, but the rocks here, as with so many of the locations around the Cape, have been fashioned by nature's forces of wind and weather into the most gloriously convoluted sculptures.
One can't resist the temptation to run one's fingers over the carved sandstone and feel the texture of it rather as one might a bronze in an art gallery; there is an innate need to make physical contact with the sensuous curves. The rock was here and there decorated with bright orange and red lichens, adding a touch of vibrant colour to these natural artworks.
The path back to the main track led me beneath the overhang of "Bertie's Balcony", traversing a near invisible path to the downward track and on home to the car.
It was still early by the time I got back and I have to confess to feeling some elation that I had made the most of the day. As I had been reminded, you can never be sure which step will be your last and it pays to take advantage of the opportunities one receives, even if only in the form of public holidays and good weather.